


Unexpected

by ShadowFall113



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blood, Child Abandonment, F/F, F/M, Gore, M/M, Murder, Original Character(s), Past Attempted Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Search for Family, Sherlock has found himself a new puzzle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowFall113/pseuds/ShadowFall113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is very pregnant, John is trying not to be a helicopter parent in the making, and Sherlock is being Sherlock, and then out of the blue there comes someone new.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Who the hell are you?"<br/>A surprised expression settled over the young boy's face. His raised fist fell to his side having no need the knock on the door now that it was open. John, face still set in an irritated mask, stood in the doorway rooted to the spot after having wrenched it open to find this stranger on the steps. Sherlock came thundering down the stairs still tattering on about the clue, and how the hell had I missed it? Me? He didn't seem to have heard anything that John had been trying to tell him on his way down the stairs. He was still talking to himself as he pulled out his mobile and hadn't realized that John was standing in the doorway and nearly ran into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Number Three Came Early

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! At the moment, this is a rough draft. I thought that I'd put it up anyway to get some much needed feedback! I am lacking in my usual Beta readers, so have at it.
> 
> Oh, and tell me if the Russian is very bad! I'm having to resort to Google, and we all know THAT has to be accurate.
> 
> Thank you for understanding,  
> ShadowFall113

"Who the hell are you?"

A surprised expression settled over the young boy's face. His raised fist fell to his side having no need the knock on the door now that it was open. John, face still set in an irritated mask, stood in the doorway rooted to the spot after having wrenched it open to find this stranger on the steps. Sherlock came thundering down the stairs still tattering on about the clue, and how the hell had I missed it? Me? He didn't seem to have heard anything that John had been trying to tell him on his way down the stairs. He was still talking to himself as he pulled out his mobile and hadn't realized that John was standing in the doorway and nearly ran into him.

"John, what–? Oh."  
"Um…" the boy began. "Is this a bad time?"  
"Yes, move, we need to leave. John," Sherlock made a get on with it gesture, and started down the cement steps to the sidewalk, moving past the stranger. The boy moved easily out of the way seemingly used to the treatment. 

"Harry said you might be busy, thought I'd give it a try anyway."  
The boy spoke as John shut the door and started down the steps to follow in Sherlock's wake, an apology on his face, but he stopped on the last step when he mentioned Harry.  
"Harry said?"  
"Yeah. She said you'd be the one to talk to… Guess I'll talk t'you later."  
Sherlock had hailed a cab and was yelling at John to hurry up as he got in.  
"Harry… Watson?" John asked, unsure.  
"Yeah," the boy frowned this time. "What other Harry is there?"  
"John!"  
"One! Minute, Sherlock! One minute," John shouted back at him.   
He was rewarded with a sulky silence. John sighed.  
"Look, I really do have to…" he gestured at the cab.

The boy nodded, "Sure," he said sounding fine about it, but there was something in his eyes that said otherwise.  
"I…" John paused. "Alright, you know what, come along. You can ask me whatever it is when he's showing off and making Lestrade look like an idiot and me feel like one." John hurried over to the cab. He didn't look to see if the boy followed, but as he got in and sat next to Sherlock, the young stranger got in across from them.  
Sherlock gave the boy a look like he had just committed some kind of taboo. 

"John, what–?"  
"Later. You were saying?"  
"What?"  
"The clue, Sherlock. The reason we're in the cab?"  
"Oh, right." He rattled off an address to the cabbie and then proceeded to tell John what he had found, although more clipped than usual. John had a suspicion that the boy tagging along was the reason for his less than usual showiness. 

"And you figured this out because…?" John prompted.  
"The bruise on his thumb. He hit it on the rail when he fell over the body, trying to move it," he muttered looking out the window and falling silent.  
"Of course," John said with a nod.  
The boy looked at the tall man with a questioning expression. After a handful of minutes, he turned to John and asked, "Does he do that a lot?"  
"Yeah," John answered.  
"O–kay…" the boy affected a somewhat awkward expression.

He fussed with his hands like he didn't know what to do with them. He settled them between his knees after a while, a thumbnail scooping the grime from under his fingers. Not knowing what else to do, he stared out the window, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. His hands paused and he started worrying at the side of his lower lip. John watched him out of the corner of his eye, a little amused. John guessed that he was somewhere around 16 or 17 from his height and young, thin features, but he had a rather serious face for a kid. It made him look older, so maybe 14. His shock of black hair was cut short and unkempt, the wayward locks stuck out at odd angles and he had a serious cowlick on the back of his head. Mary would probably think he looked adorable. John thought he looked a mess. His clothes were old and worn, a black jacket and a dark red shirt, with sad, faded blue jeans, and he looked tired. Very tired. There were faint bruises under his sharp green eyes. John finally broke the silence.

"What did you say your name was?"  
The boy looked at him sharply.  
"Uh. Didn't, but it's Nik… Um, Nikolai actually; didn't Harry call you?"  
"Noo… was she supposed to?" John asked.  
"Uh, yeah," Nik said, shoulders dropping in… disappointment? Nik sighed. He looked back out the window and started chewing on his lip again.  
"Figures," he mumbled.  
John frowned, but before he could say anything, the cab stopped and Sherlock announced that they were here, wherever here was. He got out and John followed suit. Nik was a little slow to follow.

*****  
Lestrade was a little surprised by Sherlock's straightforward report and well explained logic.  
"Hey, wait a minute… That's it?"  
"Should there be something more?"  
"Well… It's just," the DI paused, resting his hands on his hips in that "cowboy" pose he favors. Sherlock gave him a look.  
"You're usually a little more… more. That's all," the detective continued a little lamely.  
"Hm," was all he said and walked over to where John and Nik were talking.  
John had his arms crossed as he frowned down at the boy who had his head ducked submissively, his hands stuffed in his back pockets.  
Sherlock caught some of his words as he approached, "Sorry… " and "Harry needs to tell you."  
"Tell me what?" John asked, getting frustrated and a little worried.  
"John," Sherlock said as he walked up next to the shorter man, gaining his attention. "Can you hail a cab? We're done here."  
John nodded after some hesitation and another hard look at the boy.  
"Sure," he said and walked across the yard to the street.

After he was out of earshot, Sherlock fixed the boy with a calculating stare and said, "What is it you want?"  
The boy's brow crinkled under straight, messy black bangs that seemed to be defying gravity.  
"Want? What–"  
"Don't be stupid. You're Harry Watson's illegitimate child, raised by your father's relatives no doubt, since he wanted nothing to do with you and your mother didn't want you either. You grew up in America, and you haven't been to England since you were a child, probably 2 or 3 years old, but now something's happened, someone died, bringing you back here. Harry referred you to John as you say, or she couldn't give you what you wanted, money probably since you have none, so you went to find her closest relative and play them your sob story and see if they'd pity you and give you the money or just pay you off," Sherlock rattled off the boy's life story with barely a pause between words.   
"Now," he said. "What. Do you want?"  
The boy flushed and looked away from the tall man, eyes burning a hole into the grass of the leaf covered lawn. He took a shallow breath, and focused his green gaze on Sherlock.  
"God, it really sucks being on the receiving end of that intellect," he said, voice hoarse, and gave a sharp smile. He blinked back the sharp sting in his eyes and looked back down.  
"You're right of course, but I don't want money," he glanced up and gave a wince. "Never liked it, frankly. Makes people do… well. Greed is an ugly thing."

Sherlock glanced to see John finally hailing a cab.  
"I can see you really care about him."  
Sherlock looked back at the boy and cocked his head.  
"You didn't want to hurt him with knowing about me, I respect that," the boy gave him a direct look. "He should hear it from Harry, anyway. I'm back because the people who took care of me died. My father refuses to be my guardian and Harry can barely find the time to climb out of a bottle, let alone find time for me," the boy shrugged. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but it's guardianship that I was wondering if John would be up for. That, or I go back into child services, but here in England, since I'm apparently a citizen."  
Sherlock frowned.   
The boy shrugged again.

"You ran away…" Sherlock said, understanding.  
The boy forced a smile.  
"I was on the streets for a long time before I was put into the system. I was handed over to the NSPCC after I got into some trouble and was shipped over here," the boy threw a look at John who was standing outside the cab, watching them with a question on his expressive face.   
"Don't tell him, okay?" He asked, without looking at Sherlock.  
Sherlock said nothing for a minute, looking at John as well.  
"Fine," he said at last, drawing out the word like it pained him.  
Nik snorted.

*****  
The taxi pulled up to the curb of 221B Baker St. and Sherlock stepped out, followed by John. Nik hung back. John paid the cab as Nik finally stepped out onto the sidewalk.  
"I should probably get going. I didn't mean to stay so long. They're probably wondering where the hell I am…" Nik mumbled his last sentence.  
"Nik–" John started, but Sherlock cut him off.  
"Stay a while if you like, Mrs. Hudson will be happy to fuss over you."

John and Nik regarded Sherlock with surprised expressions. The tall man just turned back to the door and walked inside. They gave each other a look and Nik shrugged. They followed the man inside.  
Nik examined the small complex as the door shut and locked behind him. John motioned him to go upstairs as Mrs. Hudson came out to check on her boys. 

"Hello, John, dear," she said with a warm smile.   
Her eyes alighted on Nik.  
"Oh, and who's this? Another client? A bit young isn't he?"  
John smiled.  
"Mrs. Hudson, this is, um, Nik. He's not a client," John introduced them, finishing his sentence under his breath. "…I don't think."  
Nik shook Mrs. Hudson's hand.  
"Nice to meet you, ma'am."  
"Oh, such nice manners. Call me Mrs. Hudson, dear. Shall I bring up some tea?"  
"That would be lovely," John answered. "And some biscuits if you have any," he added as she started to walk back into her kitchen.  
"Not your housekeeper, dear," she informed him before continuing into the kitchen.

"C'mon," John said. "We're upstairs."  
Nik followed him.

*****  
John's mobile started buzzing on the side table by his chair, interrupting his typing. Mrs. Hudson was indeed fussing over Nik on the sofa as he munched on biscuits and Sherlock was scanning the newspaper, occasionally texting and taking delicate sips at his tea that was now cold. John read his caller ID: Harry Watson. John answered it as he stood up, setting aside his computer.

"Harry, hi," he greeted his sister and walked into the kitchen.  
Nik stopped listening to Mrs. Hudson and flicked Sherlock a look before following John with his eyes. There was a muted conversation that Nik only caught snatches of.  
"He's here… What?…" and then louder, "What?… "  
Sherlock looked up. There was a long silence. John hung up and stayed in the kitchen for a moment. Nick stood up and was poised at the door. Mrs. Hudson was quiet.

John walked back into the room and looked at Nik, hard eyes nailing him to the wall. Nik flinched reflexively.   
"Well. Harry told me," John said, quiet.  
Nik bit his lip feeling horrid. He hated this part.  
"M'sorry," he muttered, wishing he could vanish, feeling a flush steal across his face and up to his ears.   
"Mrs. Hudson," John said. "Could you give us a moment?"  
She looked between them and stood.  
"Sure, dear."  
She left.

"So you're… " John started, seeing Nik for the first time.  
"Yeah."  
John cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"She never said…" he stopped, letting out a breath. "She never told me… " he finished.  
Nik shrugged, his stomach clenching painfully.  
"Not surprising. People don't like to talk about their mistakes. Especially not… "  
He shrugged again.  
John stared in surprise. His face abruptly collapsed into a frown.  
"Mistakes… Nik–"

Nik cut him off. Just get it over with.   
"She tried to get an abortion when my father found out, but she was already too far along and no one would give her a cesarian. The church and all that…" Nik took a shaky breath and continued. "I never knew her until recently. Didn't even know she was alive."  
John licked his lips. He shut his eyes briefly before asking hesitantly,  
"And who… Who is your father?"  
"Mikhail Cain," Nik paused to breathe. He always forgot to breathe. "I lived with his parents for a while, but… well they didn't want me around in the first place and when I… "  
He shrugged again. Not going to explain THAT just yet.

John took a minute to voice his next question. Sherlock remained quiet throughout the exchange. A passive observer.  
"Then your name is… "  
Nik actually smiled a bit.  
"Uh, no. It's Watson. Harry mentions my father's name on my birth certificate, but he… I'm illegitimate, so it's… Watson. Nikolai Aleksandr Watson."  
John raised his eyebrows.  
"My father was Russian. Harry gave me that name as a way of getting back at him, I think."

There was a long awkward pause.  
"… Harry said you were in America?" John asked, finally.  
Nik felt his muscles tighten even more. It hurt to breathe. Relax, idiot.  
"Yes, the Boston area. Massachusetts. It's one of those east coast, northern states," Nik tried for a bit of humor, but it came out strained.  
John frowned.   
"So… Why are you here?"   
He squeezed his eyes shut and amended, "In London, I mean."  
Nik looked out the door. He didn't want to talk about this.  
"Got deported. And my closest relatives live here, so… yeah," he said with another dismissive shrug.  
"Deported?" John asked, shocked.  
"Yeah," Nik gave a meaningful look at Sherlock. "Someone died."

Silence stretched.  
"How old are you?" John asked softly.  
"15."  
John shut his eyes.  
"… Jesus," he breathed out the curse in a weary tone.  
Nik bit his lip hard and dug his fingernails into his palms… and then visibly forced himself to relax.  
"Sorry… I should probably go, now. My ward is probably wondering where the hell I am…" he inched toward the door.  
"Sorry to…" he muttered again, not finishing his sentence and walked toward the door.  
"Would you stop! Stop! Apologizing!" John yelled at him, snapping.   
"You haven't done anything wrong…" he added softly when he saw Nik jerk back to face John in surprise.   
John breathed through his nose for a minute.

"John," Sherlock said quietly into the tense silence.  
"You knew. That's what you two were talking about."  
"I told his ward he could stay here, if he wanted. The orphanage is full enough as it is and he'd have a room here until you decide everything with Mary."  
John looked like he might be angry, but he just nodded.  
"Good. Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."  
He left. Nik stood at the door watching him leave. He leaned against the wall and slid down it. He circled his arms around his raised knees and finally breathed.  
"Thanks, you didn't have to do that."  
Sherlock snorted.  
"It was the logical choice."  
"Logical," Nik murmured, mind elsewhere.

*****  
BOOM!

Nik felt himself fall out of the cradle of the leather couch, shoulders and arms pressing into carpet as he rolled away from the source of the sound. His hand went for a weapon that was not what he was used to, the thinness of it made him hesitate drawing it for a fraction of a second. It was only when he felt the shocking cold of the brick wall against his shoulders that he even registered being awake. Heart in his throat, his shocked green eyes finally took in his surroundings.   
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock! You gave me a damn heart attack!"  
The tall, dark, and intrigued detective regarded Nik with a light frown. The source of the noise lay at his feet. The disturbingly large, and no doubt heavy, book appeared as though this was not the first time it was used as an impromptu alarm clock.  
"You were asleep," Sherlock accused.  
Nik made a face that said, no shit!

"I needed you to do something. And I was performing a test."  
"What?" Nik asked, and then his expression became guarded.   
"Wha' test?"  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows as if the answer was obvious.  
"I wondered where that knife went," he said as if he really cared about the knife and was actually looking for it and not as a hint as to his "test."  
Nik followed his gaze to the knife gripped expertly in his hands. One hand gripped the wooden hilt and the other had the butt of the knife pressed against the heel of his palm to stabilize and add force. Oh.  
He set the knife on the desk on his right and slowly got to his feet. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, embarrassed, and pretended that nothing had happened.  
"What'd y' want?" he asked, slurring a bit as his brain wasn't quite awake yet. What time was it, anyway?

"The fridge is empty. Since you could be staying for a while, you might as well make yourself useful."  
As Sherlock spoke, Nik checked his watch.  
"Bread, milk, that sort of–"  
"Sherlock."  
Nik interrupted, staring at him, mouth slightly ajar.   
Sherlock looked at him surprised. He frowned.  
"What?"  
Nik started to smile against his will.  
"It's 4 in the damn morning. I don't think any grocery store is open this early, even in London."  
Understanding dawned on the detective, now tall, dark, and petulant.  
"Oh," was all he said.

Nik smiled after a moment of realizing that the man had probably been up all night doing whatever it is he did.  
"You busy?" he asked as Sherlock walked back into the kitchen to bend over a microscope.  
"What?" he asked, not looking up.  
"Wanna take a break and get food?" Nik asked louder, clarifying.  
Sherlock looked up. Nik shrugged.  
"I'm up, might as well."  
Sherlock thought about it for a second.  
"Fine. Chinese?"  
Nik gestured for the door.  
"Lead the way."

*****  
"You're staring."  
Nik blinked and blushed.  
"Sorry."  
He dropped his gaze to his food, pushing his rice around in his bowl for a moment.  
"Can I ask you something?" the young teen hesitated to ask.  
Sherlock huffed a small irritated sigh and rolled his eyes.  
"I don't know, can you?"  
It was Nik's turn to roll his eyes at the older man and gritted his teeth.  
"May I. Ask you. A question."  
Sherlock looked out the window that their booth was seated near.  
"No," he answered.

Nik stared at him, surprised, and then realizing that he shouldn't be. Undeterred, he folded his arms on the table and gave Sherlock a shrewd look.   
"Did you and John live together?"  
Sherlock fixed one blue-grey eye on Nik.  
"It's just," Nik shrugged. "You two seemed really close."  
The consulting detective turned his head, just a little, to look more easily at the boy. He frowned.  
"We are close, as you put it."  
Nik looked out the window, hunching a little more as he leaned into his folded position, weight on his forearms.  
"You miss him being around."  
Sherlock gave the boy an irritated narrowing glance.  
"He's married. They couldn't possibly both live in the flat."  
"You talk about him a lot."  
Sherlock frowned.  
"I do not. He has his life, and I have mine. I don't need him around."  
"Продолжайте говорить себе, что," Nik murmured, nearly inaudible, under his breath.

Sherlock almost glared.  
"What?"  
Nik shrugged, his shoulders engulfing his ears for a brief moment.  
"Just… That would make sense for why you're putting me up…" The boy chewed on the corner of his bottom lip as he thought.

"He seems like a really good guy," Nik said after a while.  
Sherlock fixed him with the full weight of his stare.  
"He is."  
"Mm-hm," Nik responded without looking away from the window.  
Sherlock filtered through his knowledge of emotional signifiers in the human face to try and decode Nik's expression. He was worried about something, that much was obvious, but there was something else. A secret. A fear. Dread? Yes, definitely dread.  
"If you're worried that John and Mary won't want you, then–"  
Nik shook his head slowly.  
"Mm not worried about that."  
He kept worrying his lip as he gazed at the growing buzz of traffic outside, his green eyes staring at some unknowable distant point, unfocused and unseeing.

Nik took a sharp breath and sat back abruptly, drawing himself out of his thoughts.  
"Anyway… you done?"  
Sherlock didn't immediately grasp his meaning.  
"With what?"  
The boy raised his eyebrows.  
"Y'done with your food?"  
"Oh. Yes."


	2. Reynard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh joy, things start to get fun.
> 
> Sherlock ran around the building, roughing up his appearance as he did, working on tears of his own. Nik was surrounded by another two social workers who had come out of the building to see what all the fuss was about and had gotten wrapped up in the boy's distress.  
> He had his jacket tied around his hips, mobile by his side, thumb moving to convey another text. He was still crying as he talked haltingly, voice pitched higher and accent perfect. He looked and sounded like any distressed English child of 11 or 12.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Rough Draft, same as before, feedback would be lovely. :)
> 
> \- ShadowFall113

"He's Harry's son?" Mary asked with well founded surprise.  
"Yes. And she never told me. Not once." John was working himself into a fit, but he couldn't help it.  
"He's 15, Mary. 15 and he's never even seen Harry until two weeks ago!"  
Mary was perched on the living room sofa as John paced. He had finally calmed down enough to talk to Mary about the boy, Nik, after staying up most of the night thinking about ways of strangling his sister.

"I don't know what his life has been like before coming to Britain, but from what he told me," John paused and closed his eyes briefly, eyebrows narrowed, "It wasn't easy."  
"John. Being an orphan is never easy," Mary reminded him gently.  
"I know, but…"  
He finally ran out of words. Mary, eyes steady and calm, gave a small nod.

"Why don't we meet with his Ward and see him at the orphanage–" she started to suggest.  
John interrupted,"He's staying with Sherlock."  
Mary raised her eyebrows.  
"Really?"  
John nodded.  
"Yes. He said it'd be fine until we decided what…" He trailed off.  
Mary smiled reassuringly.   
"It's alright, dear. Let's have him over for the weekend and see how things go."  
John finally sat down, elbow resting on the arm of the chair across from his wife, hand against his mouth in his usual "I'm thinking" pose.  
"He's probably going crazy being around Sherlock all day," Mary said sweetly.  
John sighed heavily and grunted.

*****  
Sherlock made a noise of annoyance at the sight of the vigilant security guards standing by the door.  
"Need a distraction?"  
Sherlock twitched, having forgotten that Nik was even there.  
"Yes. But I don't have the time… " the consulting detective trailed off as he thought, recalling other ways into the building.  
It was another few seconds before Sherlock opened his eyes and realized that Nik had run over to the guards, tying his jacket around his thin waist, exclaiming something about his mother and being lost, in near hysterics. Big crocodile tears spilled down his young cheeks.  
Sherlock almost smiled. The boy wasn't half bad. He got the guards to turn their back as Sherlock slipped by them into the building. Nik gave him a wink as he passed. The older men were trying to calm him down so that they could understand what had happened.

Sherlock received a text as he flew up the steps to the records room in the coordinator's office.  
"B quick can't cry forever" – N  
Sherlock did smile at that.   
"He could be useful after all."

*****  
"Getting suspicious" – N  
The text buzzed in Sherlock's pocket as he dug through multiple file cabinets. He gave it a quick glance before continuing his search. Nothing was organized in this room. It was like a human sized rat nest.

Ten minutes passed by the time Sherlock found what he needed.   
"Anytime" – N  
He took photos of the document and put it back where he found it. Ducking out of the room, he headed for the exit. He got another text as he went out the back of the building.  
"ANYTIME" – N

Sherlock ran around the building, roughing up his appearance as he did, working on tears of his own. Nik was surrounded by another two social workers who had come out of the building to see what all the fuss was about and had gotten wrapped up in the boy's distress.  
He had his jacket tied around his hips, mobile by his side, thumb moving to convey another text. He was still crying as he talked haltingly, voice pitched higher and accent perfect. He looked and sounded like any distressed English child of 11 or 12.  
Sherlock could make out some of what he was saying as he drew closer.  
"… and–and I looked everywhere, (sob) but (sob) I didn't see her (hiccup) and…"

A talented actor… A talented liar.  
Sherlock stored the information.  
He approached the scene quickly.  
"Timmy!"

"Timmy" turned around, eyes appropriately wide. His young face was a mess. Flushed and wet with tears, his eyes red. His black hair more haphazard than before.  
"Uncle Reynard!"  
Sherlock slowed as he approached the group.  
"Did you find her? Is Mum ok?" Nik asked as he ran the short gap to Sherlock.  
Sherlock smiled and took Nik by the shoulders, bending down to give him a feigned once-over.  
"Yes, Timmy, she'll be alright. Your aunt found her by the garden of all places."  
Sherlock straightened, hugging Nik close as he addressed the small crowd.  
"I'm so sorry for the trouble. Lizzy," Sherlock sucked in a breath that he didn't really need. "my sister has trouble remembering things due to her condition. (another breath) We have such a scare when she wonders off."  
He looked down at Nick and rubbed his shoulder.  
"Timmy worries so much about her. He's a sensitive child, I hope he hasn't caused you any great trouble?"

The woman social worker smiled and breathed a small sigh. The men looked irritated.  
"Thank goodness," she said. "He gave us quite a scare."  
Sherlock gave an apologetic smile.  
"I'm terribly sorry about that."  
He looked down at Nik again and made to move away.  
"Let's go home, Timmy, your mum would like to see you."   
He gave another smile at the woman, inwardly rolling his eyes.  
"Thanks again."

When they rounded the corner, Nik dropped the act like you would a hot coal. He wiped at his face and untied his jacket from around his waist, pulling it on. Zipping it up, he asked,  
"Timmy? Really? Why not just call me Lassie while you're at it."  
Sherlock frowned.  
"Why would I call you that?"  
Nik rolled his eyes.  
"You know, 'What's that Lassie? Timmy fell down the well?'" he quoted.  
Silence. Nik sighed.  
"It's an old American movie…" He added when there was no sign of recognition on Sherlock's face.

They walked on in silence for a block before Sherlock asked,  
"Why Reynard?"  
Nik wiped at his face and snuffled.  
"First thing that came to mind," he said with a dismissive shrug.  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  
"A medieval Dutch poem just came to mind."  
Nik shrugged again, just as dismissive, "It seemed to fit."  
Sherlock hailed a cab as his mobile buzzed.  
"What the hell took you so long, anyway?" the boy asked as Sherlock gave a quick glance at the text.  
"Combination lock," he answered distractedly.  
"Coming over to see Nik. Are you at the flat?" – JW  
"Hm."  
"What?" Nik asked as they climbed into the cab.  
"John and Mary are coming to see you," Sherlock answered, studying Nik's face.  
"Oh… Okay."  
He started chewing on his lip.

*****  
"Was on a case. Be there shortly." – SH  
"Huh. Sherlock was out on a case," John informed.  
Mary raised her eyebrows as she drove, never taking her eyes from the road.  
"Was Nik with him?"  
John frowned and typed out the question as he answered,  
"I don't know."

*****  
"Was Nik with you?" – JW  
Sherlock studied his mobile.

*****  
"Yes." – SH  
"Apparently he was," John grumbled, half to himself.   
He felt a twinge of jealousy, but he knew he was being ridiculous, and pushed those feelings aside. More importantly, had Nik been in any danger?

*****  
"What the hell were you doing bringing a kid on a case?!" – JW  
Sherlock pursed his lips.  
"Hm."

*****  
"He wasn't in danger. He provided a convenient distraction." – SH  
John glared at his phone and began typing out a tart response that Nik was a kid. Before he was halfway done with the retort, another message buzzed in.

"He seemed quite adept at taking care of himself." – SH  
John huffed an irritated sigh.

*****  
Sherlock had put his mobile in his pocket, thinking the conversation was at a close when it buzzed. Making an irritated noise, he pulled it back out.  
"He's just a kid, Sherlock." – JW

"Oh for–" Sherlock cut himself off as he hit the call icon.  
Nik gave him a curious glance; a small tilt of his head and a quirk of an eyebrow.

*****  
John answered the buzzing mobile.  
"Sherlo–"  
"There was no danger, John. I would not have brought him along if I thought that there was–"  
Mary gave John a quick stare as he cut Sherlock off at the end of his sentence.  
"You can't bring a kid along on a case! Not even you can be sure if there's no danger."

*****  
Sherlock shut his eyes in an annoyed, "I must be patient" glare.  
"John, it was his idea to– Oh here!"  
Sherlock shoved the mobile at Nik who stared back at him in surprise.  
"Take it."

Nik took the mobile, regarding it as one would a sleeping rattle snake. Carefully raising it to his ear, he said,  
"Hello?"  
He heard John pause for a minute before saying,  
"Nik, hi. Did Sherlock talk you into this? He should know better than to bring you on a case. It's dangerous."

Nik raised his eyebrows as he studied Sherlock's petulant expression.  
"Uh, no, I'm alright. It was kind of fun, actually."  
"He should not have taken you with him. You could have been hurt or been caught and put in jail. Being a distraction could have gotten you in a lot of trouble."  
Nik bit his lip to keep from smiling. Haven't been scolded like this in a while.  
"Seriously, John, it was fine. Sherlock didn't suggest anything, I just did it. I figured it was a quick job and I've done this kind of thing before, so…"  
He shrugged knowing John couldn't see the motion.

"Would you put Sherlock back on, please?"  
Nik gave Sherlock a look. Busted. He tried not to smirk.   
"Sure thing, Pops."  
From Sherlock's glare, he knew that he wasn't entirely successful.

*****  
"Satisfied?" Sherlock demanded somewhat poisonously.  
John frowned.  
"For now."  
More importantly…   
"Did he just call me 'Pops'?"  
John could hear his friend's smug grin in his words.  
"Yes, I believe he did."

Sherlock hung up. Always has to have the last word.  
John looked over at Mary who was driving up to the curb outside the old flat. John tucked his mobile away. Mary expertly parked and turned to regard him with eyebrows raised.  
John wasn't sure how to begin. He frowned, blinked and pursed his lips, looking through the windshield for a moment.

"He just called me, 'Pops,'" John said finally.  
Mary's brows rose into her hairline.  
"Sherlock?"  
John huffed.  
"No, Nik."  
If it'd been Sherlock, I'd wring his neck.

Mary smiled.  
"Oh."  
John raised his eyebrows.  
"Oh," he quoted back.  
Mary's doe brown eyes sparkled with mischief.  
"I don't think he was referring to your age, John."  
John felt a light flush of embarrassment.  
"Oh," he said.

A cab pulled up in front of them. Sherlock and Nik stepped out onto the curb.  
John noticed how red Nik's dark eyes were and the bright color up high on his cheeks. He had been crying. John stepped out of the car and joined Mary on the sidewalk. He gave Sherlock a withering look. The tall detective raised his brows. Before John could start another argument, Nik stepped between the two men, approaching Mary. He offered his hand and introduced himself, casting a brief look at John.  
"You must be Mrs. Watson. I'm Nik," he said with a quiet, genuine smile.  
Mary smiled back and shook his offered hand,  
"It's good to finally meet you."

Nik gave a nod and stuffed his hands back in his jeans' pockets. He threw a look over his shoulder at Sherlock, saying, "We goin' inside?"  
Sherlock and John shared an amused look behind Nik's back.  
"Yes, I think it's best we should," John said.  
Sherlock gave a slight bow, "Shall we?" and leapt up the steps.  
The others followed after him.


End file.
